The Harder Side of the Mountain
by kingcael
Summary: Auron POV. After he confronts Yunalesca, Auron remembers his duty to his friends' children. Pre-game. Spoilers. Implied Auron/Braska. Major whump and Auron having a bad time of it.


The Harder Side of the Mountain

I remember.

I don't want to, but I do. I see others like me and wonder if they remember too.

I got no satisfaction from my end. It wasn't an end, really.

It was a short stop. I looked at the door and didn't knock.

Next time, I'll kick that door down.

But until then, I'll remember what it looked like.

She was beautiful, the Lady Yunalesca. Beauty tempered with resolve, but tarnished with resignation. Her eyes reminded me of snakes. Braska's wife had eyes like that, but without the teeth.

Her gaze fell on me with the sound of grating metal, and she saw my hesitation. Braska and Jecht, as bold as brass, and me.

I didn't deserve to stand there with them.

She knew it, too. She never addressed me, not until I forced her to.

After… After the Calm.

Standing closer to her, I could see the harsh darkness clouding her eyes. Every shadow behind her seemed hostile, and I felt the ground under my feet writhing.

"Braska believed in the teachings and died for them! Jecht believed in Braska and died for him!" As those words spilled from my mouth, I could taste them on my tongue. They tasted of violence in the Calm Lands, the blood of my only friends, and the sharpness of pyreflies, taking them both from me.

"They chose to die because they had hope," she said. To her, it was simple. She was confused as to why I was here. I was the useless one, the weak one. A man who wouldn't have made it here on his strength alone.

My hands trembled on my sword, and she smiled. It wasn't a smile of empathy, or even pity. It was patronizing. She was laughing at me.

I had no words. I ran at her, all my pain and hate, roaring behind me. It was the only thing I had left. My sword is- was for my lord, and now—

I saw a different face, more horrible than the first. Beautiful and terrible and devouring.

Yunalesca caught my blade, holding it fast with the same resonating power that Braska has. Had.

Her eyes, they pierced me, holding me in mid-air for a moment. With a flick of her wrist, she turned my sword against me, and snapped it forward.

I blinked against the blade, and was blind. A ripping sensation seared down my body; she tore me open effortlessly. Her face was vicious, like a wild animal.

She's going to eat my heart, I thought. Blood will run down her chin and stain her lips and she'll devour me with fierce beauty. And maybe I'll be free. I'll see Braska again, and he'll be happy. He'll smile like he did before we left Bevelle. Like he did with his family.

His family. Jecht's family. I had a duty to them.

I felt a weightlessness, and wondered if I was ascending to where Braska went. I saw his face clearly in my mind. His awkward smile, that showed off his crooked teeth. His wife found that smile endearing, and so did I. He smelled like tea, and old leaves. His hands were small, but clever and warm. I felt them against my face on three different occasions, and those were when I was happiest.

I held on to those thoughts, blissful in the air for a moment. I hit the ground. My images of solace seemed to shatter with the impact. I hit the ground again, and felt my bones bend.

The feeling wasn't as horrible as the sound.

I didn't see Yunalesca leave, but she did. The ground calmed, and became colder.

I failed. Everything I sought to do, all my promises and honour, leaking from me, spreading out on this freezing stone. I could see my breath. How many of those did I have left, I wondered.

Something scorched my skin. A pyrefly. Already? Yunalesca must have done more damage than I could even feel anymore.

"Auron…"

Alright. It's time. I accept it.

"Auron."

A warm hand on my face. I leaned into it, pulling my head away from the stone. Through my remaining eye, I thought I saw that familiar faded robe, his hands… His face.

I wanted to say his name. My throat was open, but my voice was drowning in blood. I choked, and spat out red.

"I want you to live," Braska said. "Please."

I shook my head, and tears started to fall. I wanted this to be over, this pain, this loneliness. He's here to take me away. We'll meet on the Farplane and hope that Braska's Calm will last forever. His daughter, Yuna, she'll be happy.

No.

She'll be lonely. She'll be tortured by stories of her father in Bevelle. Nobody will see her, they will only see him. She'll suffer in the Calm.

Jecht's son. He's already lonely. Already feeling the weight of his father's legacy.

I couldn't save their fathers. I was too weak.

"Br-" I coughed, and clenched my teeth. My sword was stuck in the stone before me, and my gloved hand nudged against it. My left arm was useless, bent at an impossible angle. I heaved myself forward, and managed to get into a kneeling position.

I had to save their children. I couldn't save _them_.

Useless, weak, stupid, failure!

Alive.

I was still alive. I held onto the hilt of my sword, and rested my forehead against it. It has all our blood on it now. I'm bleeding still. Braska and Jecht, they don't have this luxury.

Their children do.

I stand, using my sword as a crutch. Bevelle. It wasn't that far. The other side of the mountain. It wasn't that far.

The cold of Gagazet numbed my wounds. A wind blew down past the fayth, and chilled Zanarkand. Every breath I could see in front of me was the guide to Bevelle.

Before I set out, I pulled my broken arm into a makeshift sling using my robe. My hand dangled uselessly, but I could feel my warm blood spilling over it. I had to discard my armour, it was too heavy. It was destroyed anyway.

Pyreflies were my constant companion. Fiends seemed to be sparse, maybe because of the Calm…?

Each step I took sent pain up my right side. I had no talent for healing magic of any kind. Braska was always there for that, and, barring him, Jecht always had an enormous amount of potions. He said he liked the taste, that they replaced his drink.

I had nothing after the battle with Sin. A headstrong rage. I wanted to die. I should have just done it myself.

I approached the steep incline of Gagazet, and looked up at the swirling blizzard at the peak. No doubt it was raining on the other side.

This is where it would become difficult. Zanarkand was a ruin, but it was mostly paved. The rocks and crags of Gagazet would become my tomb.

No. No, it couldn't. I had to make it to Bevelle. There were healers. Potions. Help.

I stumbled up the path, pulling myself up with every searching stab of my sword.

I should be dead. I should be with Braska and Jecht. It would have been so much easier.

The blizzard crept towards me, and froze the steady flow of blood into tiny spheres that bounced at my feet.

Spheres. Jecht was always recording them. He had left his spheres behind, maybe he was hoping they'd encourage others on the pilgrimage. Maybe they were for his son.

Maybe… they were… for me.

The wind grew harsher, but was at my back. It almost felt like it was trying to push me over the narrow path. My steps fell heavy and slow, and my sword scraped against the rocks. At the peak, I stopped. There was the faintest light of Bevelle at the foot of the mountain, glowing and encouraging. Yuna was there, sleeping, waiting for news from her father. She was probably hoping he failed. That he gave up and returned to her.

Like I wanted. Selfish. Stupid.

I hunched over, and took my first step down the harder side of the mountain. Snow turned to sleet, and then to rain, soaking through my robe. Each step over wet chunks of ice and rock slipping and sliding under my unsteady feet was painful, and now even the cold didn't numb the pain.

I lost my way, I couldn't see Bevelle through the rain. The mountain was trying to take me, but I couldn't yield.

My side felt like it was spilling out all my life. I had to hold myself together. My broken arm clenched with little strength against the flow. I felt the raw edge of my bones inside, grating against my fingertips. Wet inside and out.

I stumbled, and fell hard on my left arm. A shout escaped my lips, but I quickly silenced it for fear of fiends. I'd be easy prey now. I looked out into the storm and saw Bevelle again. Calling me back. Don't give up.

Gasping, I spat out the blood that had collected in my mouth again, and shakily stood. One more step. Then another. It's easy, Auron. Come on.

I stepped, and the ground fell.

It was similar to the sensation after Yunalesca struck me down. This time, the feeling was worse than the sound. My leg, it wasn't right anymore. My foot wouldn't even move. The sound coming from my lips was quiet but long. A scream compressed. Pathetic. Like a dying animal.

Bevelle. Where's the glow? I needed a goal. I could crawl. My sword was lost. There. Something. A small light.

I cried, in pain and frustration, but tears only fell from one eye. The mountain was hungry, and I couldn't escape its jaws. The tiny glow in the rain called me, and I dragged myself to it with my good arm.

A sphere. Of what?

I played it back, and saw…him. Talking to Yuna, his Yuna. I played it back three times, focusing on his face, his voice, his words.

"Do what you must do, the way you need to do it. Doors will always open themselves to those who do."

Even if I'm broken into a million pieces, I'll make it there. I'll tell that girl to leave Bevelle. To go to Besaid. Like her father wanted. Live a happy life there.

Braska. My lord. My- Braska. I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry!" I sobbed, holding the sphere close to my chest. A long cry escaped my throat, and rain hammered down, the nails of my rocky coffin surrounded me. I want to quit. I want to die. I can't.

I pushed myself up again, crawling with one arm and one leg, dragging my broken pieces behind me. I wanted to keep the sphere close, but left hand couldn't hold on. I couldn't leave it.

"H-help," I murmured. "Gagazet. Help me."

My hand was slippery on the sphere and I lost my hold on it. It slid back the way I had crawled, nestled in a small alcove. Where I had fallen.

"Help!" I screamed, my words tossed aside by Gagazet's winds. "Help me, Braska! Jecht!" I cried into the ground, swallowed up by the rain. I felt so pathetic. Alone.

I heard a scuffling sound behind me, and my heart jumped into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed it, and pulled myself forward again. Just keep going. That fiend will eat you. It'll bring your heart to Yunalesca.

Keep going. Another pull. Crawl down to Bevelle. Finish your story.

I felt claws on my back. Blindly, I swung a loose fist behind me, and something caught it. A hand.

Confused, I focused as well as I could, and saw a white patch of fur in the dark, and bright yellow eyes.

A young Ronso. Why- what- his horn is broken- I don't- understand.

"Braska!" I choked out. "Braska, daughter, Bevelle." The Ronso stared. He was young, and smaller than most I'd seen.

"Summoner Braska," he said. "Is Summoner Braska finished?"

"Yes," I hissed. Blood bubbled in my mouth, slurring my words. "Bevelle. I have- to… His daughter. Daughter Yuna."

"Yuna," the Ronso repeated. He nodded.

"What-" I began, and the Ronso silenced me by putting a potion to my lips. Most of it ran down my face with the rain, but a few drops soothed my throat.

He lifted me easily, and cradled me to his chest. I shuddered as the potion numbed my broken bones, and found comfort in the soft fur of the Ronso's chest. For a moment, I felt at peace again.

He began to run. I could tell he was trying to keep me steady, but with every footfall pain lanced through me. I closed my eyes, and felt darkness creep across my body.

"This is much too extensive. I do not have the facilities for this." A new voice. Al Bhed accent.

"Warrior wants Bevelle. Other places say no. Kimahri bring him here. Kimahri stays here." I can feel the vibration of the Ronso's voice.

"I don't have what you need, sir."

"Kimahri stays here." The Ronso's voice gained a growl, and I heard the Al Bhed sigh.

"I will do my best." Another set of hands, and I felt a light Cure spell wash over me. It didn't help much. "Place him on this bed."

The Ronso set me down, and I wanted to speak. To thank him. "Yuna…" I mumbled. "Find Braska's Yuna. To Besaid."

"Besaid," the Ronso repeated.

"Yes." I said, in a long exhale. I felt drops of blood spray from my mouth.

"Kimahri honours you, warrior." His hand pressed on my chest twice. "Kimahri will do as you say."

"Thank you…" I open my eye, and look at the young Ronso. "Kimahri. Thank you."

Kimahri stood, and I heard his steps leave, followed by the sound of the door.

Another Cure spell washed over me, but I could tell it wasn't enough. Already my heart slowed, and my resolve was failing.

A bottle touched my lips and I parted them, allowing the thick potion to flow across my tongue. It tasted unusual. Like honey.

I was tired. It didn't feel like dying. But what does that feel like?

I fell asleep.

"The Calm has come. Yes. I believe it was due in part to your actions," a voice said.

I opened my eye, and looked over to the source of the voice. The young Al Bhed was sitting on a stool beside my bed.

"You are… High Summoner Braska's guardian, are you not?"

I managed a short nod. I didn't even try to move. I knew it wouldn't be any good.

"I think you might die, sir." He sounded strained, like he was doing his best to keep his voice level. "I cannot seem to stop your bleeding."

I just looked at him. "Yuna…"

"His daughter, yes? The intimidating Ronso seems to have done as you asked. She hasn't been seen since the night you got here."

I nodded again, and turned my gaze to the ceiling. "Braska…"

"He has been named a High Summoner. Preparations have already been made to create his statue."

I swallowed. It tasted like metal.

"And I believe you are to be honoured. A legendary guardian. Are you Sir Auron or Sir Jecht?"

His words hit me, and stung. I sat up, and felt the blood flowing again. The bandages pulled tightly as I fumed. "Honoured? For what? Running and hiding, trying to fight that woman, crying as my friends died in front of me? A legend! I'm a fool!" As I raged, saliva and blood flew from my mouth, I probably looked deranged.

The young man remained still, but looked terrified. "Sir, I am sorry." He stood. "Please rest here. I will try to find a healer from the temple."

The temple… I seethed. The temples are made of lies. Yevon is a lie.

I could die. It wouldn't be hard. None of this would matter then.

Except…

I still have things to do.


End file.
